


Your Daddy's Eyes

by EmeraldSage



Series: The Holiday Collection [12]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Even if it's only Alaska, Holiday prompts, In Alaska, Kinda Imperial, M/M, Prompt #12, Prompt:Imperial, RusAmeHoliday, State fic, Takes place while Russia's an Empire, at least, enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8825995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: RusAme Holiday Prompt #12: Colonial/Imperial





	

**Author's Note:**

> [interesting given that maybe half of my prompt fills could fit for this one; I’ll do my best; might be a bit short though, I’ve got an exam in the morning, yikes]
> 
> The title...is interesting. I had no idea what to title this, but one of the songs I was listening to started singing about a baby having "your daddy's eyes" at the same time one of the fanfics I was reading said the same thing, and I was like, damn! There's my title!

 

            The neighborhood was quiet as he ventured further out into the winter landscape; though that was not unusual. It the quiet rural areas of Alaska, homesteads were fairly spread apart. He drew his coat around him tighter, despite not feeling the cold as a warmer nation would have, and marched on. His hand tightened around the parcel in his gloved grip and he huffed out a nervous breath into his scarf.

            The house he sought – a cabin that had been constructed lovingly, two pairs of hands working in harmony with each other, warm smiles and laughter keeping them afloat in the deep cold of winter – was quiet, but gently lit. The bright splash of lantern light warmed the cozy cabin’s front porch, and he smiled as the light snow gentled as he drew closer. The Christmas season was beginning to permeate the atmosphere. He could see it even in the garlands that decorated the cabin. Within the lit window, he caught a glimpse of garlands of tinsel lining the sill, and the gleam of more promised beyond the curtain light. A hand woven wreath was fastened tightly to the door, a red ribbon curled around it.

            He paused only to liberate the biting cold metal key from his cozy coat pocket, to open up the door into the warmth that burned gently within the confines of the cabin’s insulated walls. He hurried inside, sliding the door closed, a shield against the rapidly declining temperatures from outside. There was a soft humming coming from inside one of the rooms – the interior living room, most likely, he thought; it had a warm fireplace, and he knew how his companion enjoyed the warmth in the cold of the evening – and he heard it paused briefly before it resumed, almost seamlessly. He felt a smile stretch on his lips.

            He was met with warm blue eyes as he walked into the warm den, shedding his coat as he drew closer. America sprawled sideways on the long couch, propped up by the armrest, wrapped in blankets to shield against whatever chill the fire hadn’t driven away. His arms were only loosely wrapped, mostly free, and were gently stroking a blanket-wrapped bundle on his lap. He’d glanced up when Russia walked in, smiling gently, stopping the slight, repetitive motion of his hands.

            There was a whine that emerged from the blanket wrapped bundle, and Russia could feel his features light up as America turned his attention, smile warming and eyes soft, to the bundle and resumed his motions. The blanketed bundle settled, and America’s smile brightened.

            Russia didn’t even realize crossing the floor between them until he’d fallen to his knees next to the couch, an arm sliding around the other nation’s shoulders and the other hand entwined with their counterpart’s, following the gentle movement. He stared, enraptured, at the gentle breathing movements he could feel underneath his hand. America watched him with smiling blue eyes.

            “When…” he breathed hoarsely before clearing his throat, attention finally shifting to the younger nation, who smiled, and hoped he hadn’t noticed the distinct loss of utter composure. “When did you find him?”

            “A few days after you left,” America’s voice was soft, hushed; so unlike his usual tone, but with a gentleness that made his insides warm and melt, and made him want to wrap himself around the two in his arms until they could never leave, “after the flags were exchanged.” Blue eyes darted up from their intertwined hands to meet the violet ones watching him, “That’s why I sent for you so quickly. I couldn’t let you be unaware.”

            He moved his free hand to pull the blankets back from the small bundle in his arms, until a small face was revealed in its depths. Russia felt his breath hitch.

            There was soft, downy hair, ashy in its shade, intermixed amongst shades of gold. A tiny pert nose, set in a soft, pale face that reminded him so much of the one he saw in the mirror every day. Pale pink lips twitched in sleep, and that face buried itself into America’s ever-warm embrace as more of itself was revealed to the chill of the air. The little body that fitted that little face was wrapped in a warm full-body onesie, woolen and knitted gently, and lined with soft cloth that just barely peaked out from underneath the blanket. That pale face scrunched up at the rush of cold air, and America drew the blanket back around that young face, just enough that Russia could still see him, but the comfort of an all-encompassing warmth would return.

            _He’s beautiful._ “He’s _ours_ ,” and there was no mistaking how hoarse his voice had gotten this time, or the almost reverential undertones that lined his voice. He hadn’t a qualm about it this time, because he’d heard much the same in America’s words, when he’d read the urgent note for the first time and felt his heart stop in his chest.

            America’s hand, entwined with his, tightened its grip, and the warmth in that smile said it all.

            He levered himself up, until he was standing once more, and dropped a loving kiss to his companion’s lips, pouring all the emotion he could into the one action. He knew as well as America did, that by appearing only after the transfer of territory, Alaska had made its decision on who would raise and nurture the land. Russia had had his share of North America for a little over a hundred years, and not once had a personification appeared to him. Within a week, a young toddler had found America. The decision had been made.

            And even though America would have been well within his rights to not say a word to Russia at all, it had been the first thing the other nation had done.

            “Does your government know?” he had to force the question from his lips. It had been so short a period since they had last seen each other, that he was almost sure America had yet to leave the chilly territory. And from what he knew of those in Washington, he knew it was unlikely they would’ve allowed the younger to stay any longer than he’d had to. Of course, it was hard to say; both their governments liked that they were on good terms with each other. His tsar had hardly complained when he’d jumped ship to dash back to Alaska when he’d gotten the news. (Well, maybe a little)

            America frowned slightly, biting his lip and glancing away. He sighed softly, and Russia got the impression that was an _issue_ the younger nation would rather not discuss. “I sent them a letter,” he said decidedly, expression stubborn.

            “When, if I may ask?” he asked pointedly, an eyebrow rising in question. Blue eyes glared at him for a split second, before the glare melted away.

            “A few days ago,” he said reluctantly, and Russia bit back a sigh. Well, that would neatly infuriate the American government; they were quite protective over their personification, especially after that kidnapping incident in 1811….

            America only shrugged, beyond caring, “They wouldn’t have let me tell you,” he said simply, and left it at that. Russia dropped his gaze to the little bundle in the other’s arms and understood.

            Suddenly, the bundle shifted, and a flare of pain lanced across America’s face. Russia startled, alarmed, but even with teeth gritted against the sudden pain, blue eyes were clear enough to keep him still.

            “It’s nothing,” he said, after a moment managing the flare, “the memories of war are fresh,” he continued on, quieter, more morose, and solemn, “my people are still at odds. It…aches, frequently.” Blue eyes darted to meet his, solemn and unrest all the same, “I will be fine.”

            He bit his lip as he shoved away the frown forming on his face; it was not a satisfying answer, but he would have to let it stand (for now). Despite their intimate relationship, the private political situation in America’s country was not something he had a right to know. Of course, he’d be consulting his information network soon after he returned to Russia, but for now, he would leave it be. If it became anything serious – anything more destabilizing than the Civil War had been on his beloved – he would act. But not until then; the other nation trusted him, and he would not disrespect that by interfering…yet.

            “Are you well?” he heard, and turned his attention back to the younger blond, curious. “I know you and Japan have been having some difficulties, you’re both competing for China’s land…” he trailed off, uncertain how to go on. Russia chuckled; he should’ve known. America had become fast friends with Japan once relations had opened up, and having two of his closest friends at odds must be difficult for one unused to the viciousness and temperamental nature of the European empires.

            So, he launched into his own storytelling, settling in curled against the younger nation and the territory they’d somehow created together, and watched his small family. Alaska, as if tuned to the sound of his voice, grew more and more active in his slumber the longer Russia continued to speak, and he wondered if this had been why America had remained so unusually silent this entire time. Soon enough, a soft hiccup emerged from the blanket when he stopped speaking, followed by a small wail that increased in intensity the longer he was left unattended.

            Although, that wasn’t quite accurate; it seemed Alaska wanted attention from his new parent. America handed the small bundle over into slightly shaking arms with no small amount of amusement and understanding; it had been him who had dealt with Alaska in the first few days of their meeting, after all.

            Russia curled his arms around the toddler – years of practice from the children of his royals coming back to him in an instance – and gazed down into fussy, innocent, teary bright sky blue.

            And even years later, when their love for each other was only surpassed by the enmity their people had for each other, Russia still recalled that it was only fitting Alaska had America’s sky eyes.


End file.
